Author Archives: daisymaeiuseyourwifi

Word. Vomit.
It’s a thing.

When I can’t stop it from coming
And it chokes me
And I have no control
And all the things come out
Even though I don’t want them to
And I heave and they come
And don’t stop
I’m looking at them on my screen
Dripping off my fingertips
AllthewordsallthetimeIneverstopever

And then it’s over.
And I stop.
And I’m gasping for air.
Staring face to face with the damage.
Face leaking with tears.
Heaving inside, terrified.
That I can’t control another episode.
That I’ll just keep.
Vomiting. Words.

My brain is a hoarders paradise
Memories heaped to the ceiling
Knowledge in landfill piles
Neurons in chaos
Strewn across countertops and tables.

I’m always standing in the middle
Waiting for this mess to fall in
Waiting for the eventual collapse.
It never comes
But the anticipation lasts forever.

And by the smallest handful at a time
I remove the mess
Confident I’ve done something
But no dent could ever be made
In the still-building tower
Of all these collectible thoughts.

I see the broken glass of myself
Strewn on the floor.
Glue in hand,
My bones are aching for cover.

And I pick up the tiny pieces first,
Little by little I’m rebuilding.
And when the shards get bigger,
Harder to maneuver
I leave them where they lie.

Another day, I say,
When my muscles have the strength.
But now I stare at all these big things
And lifting them again
Seems like an impossible task.

All that’s left is to embrace the hard,
But I want to stay in soft clouds,
Far from places that make me shatter.
Until I find a way
To put every fragment back in place.

If I showed you who I am
It’s something you can believe.
The onus is laid in your hands.
All of my worth is in me,
Not in your beholding eye.

Trust that I’ll overcome you too,
Because I’ve walked this heart
Through fire and ice and swords
And on the other side walked away clean,
Pointing the birds at heaven’s door.

I’d gulp every last drop of freedom
If it meant never seeing bars again.

Take me down the road
Lead me by the hand
Don’t let me lag,
Make me keep pace.
I can’t stop or I won’t start again.

Take the breath from me
Make the steps even longer,
Faster, urgent.
But don’t make me chase.
I want you to teach me to run.

Sinking toes into green,
I’m planting myself in sunlight.
The blades snake between,
And I hug the ground with a curl.

And from the top of my head
Down to these toes
Connection floods me,
I am earth and earth is me.

We used to glide amongst the fireflies
Slinking up the groove of leaves
Alight and burning in a night black sky,
Chasing the branches to the top.

We used to sparkle amongst the stars
Twinkling spheres of heat
Dancing in the dark of space
Ever higher toward the heavens, soaring.

We used to shine in the sun
Reflecting off our skin like rain
The scent of summer in our hair
And the days never ended, went on forever.

We kill ourselves for paper now
Giving all our light to someone else,
Under the artificial light we have created.
When all we want is to fly with the fireflies.

Take your lessons and your penance,
The ones you heaped upon your own back.
Bricks of hollow emptiness,
Piles of pipe dreams,
Bulky packages of fantasy.
Every step forward sheds a weight,
If the strength to hold it all first, holds out.

A writers brain often runs away with itself. It can create and evoke emotion from words alone. Sometimes, we lose ourselves in characters, in ways not understood even to us. I created one once, a man. A total figment of my imagination. I convinced myself for 18 months that he existed. A dark, handsome musician from far away, something worldly, charismatic, electrifying. He sang for me, played guitar and piano late into the night. Called me a dozen times a day, told me I was beautiful, special. That he loved me. Over time, he became this real person I talked about by name. How could something so shiny ever see my dull, muted light? But he did. He saw me where I stood, held me in the moment and didn’t let me get away despite all my hesitation.

When you’re writing both sides of the dialogue though, you can make it sound beautiful. You can pretend the words come out perfect, that you can ride the line of fantasy and reality and come out okay on the other side. It’s the moment that line blurs that I caution you against. When they consume you without being present. A cloud of uncertain footing, a fog that creeps in while blissful ignorance turns its face to the sun.

And did I let this happen? Willingly. Unhesitatingly. I walked into the lion’s den led by my own hand. Because in the end I can’t blame him for his creation. I can’t hate him for what he meant to my heart for however long a time. Someday I won’t tear up when I hear The Eagles, and wish I was that girl in the flatbed Ford, slowing down to take a look at him.

Flame kisses the night sky alight,
Bright and warm against the black.
The wood at first resists,
Firmly defiant of the heat,
Praying for the strength to hold on.

But there is a freedom to letting go,
A sigh of relief in defeat,
In letting the fire take what is his,
In watching the path burn
Never to be walked again.

And I would light the match again,
Time after time, over and over,
Just to watch the flame climb,
Just to see the ash of what once was…
To see what rises in its wake.